


A Fresh Start

by pastarc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastarc/pseuds/pastarc
Summary: Harry is a struggling playwright, Draco is a newly appointed director, willing to give him a chance.





	1. The First Meeting

     After hours of staring at a luminous screen, Harry could now finally feel the full strain the brightness had impressed on his weary eyes. All puffy and teary eyed, he could barely refrain himself from blinking furiously, in sync with the ticking of the clock – which now felt ominous, as though it were a foreboding countdown of sorts.

     With each tick and each tock, he felt more and more distracted – until, finally, he felt the compulsion to jerk his stiff neck towards it. And, dear Lord – was it 5 am already? He had completely lost track of time. Again. He grabbed his neck and pressed his fingers against it, to lessen the numbness. Inhaling sharply, he refreshed his inbox for one last time. His heart started racing a hundred miles an hour. He finally got a reply.

     But all of his ships were suddenly sunk, as soon as he laid his eyes on the opening sentence:

     “Dear Mr. Potter,   
     we appreciate the chance to read, but we don’t feel…”

     He exhaled fully, emptying his lungs, as though something large and heavy was pressing against his chest. Turned down, once more. Third time just this month. Rubbing his swollen eyes, he stormed out of his chair and started pacing around the room, stretching out his cracking knees. At this rate, he severely doubted one of his plays would be performed just about anywhere in London. Ever. A flicker of self-doubt started growing inside his mind all over again – was getting rejected over and over again really worth spending all those sleepless nights working, writing, editing? A comforting fact remained that, at least his inbox was swarmed with all sorts of text needing translations – but working freelance barely left him any time for dinners. At the thought of this, his stomach started growling in protest.

     Right. First, some rest, then, a nice cup of coffee. And a bagel.

     By the time he had woken up, it was nearly 10 am, just in time to catch a bus to the West End. Stepping out, he took the time to straighten his wrinkled shirt, but didn’t bother to do the same with his messy hair. He smiled widely as he saw Pansy had already been waiting for him in front of the coffee shop, waving to beckon him over.  

     The coffee shop stood adjunct to the small theater she had been working in for a while now, and Harry could always rely on the fact he could catch her in front of it at any point during one of her breaks. After saying hello, the pair entered the tiny space, and all the pleasant smells of fresh pastry and hot coffee flooded Harry’s senses. The shop pretty much relied on the same bunch of people visiting it – actors, playwrights, directors and such – but, nonetheless, the atmosphere was always warm, always buzzing and full of life. Soon enough, Harry found himself as one of those frequenters, having met Pansy, and her boyfriend, Blaise – both actors – in practically the very first moments of visiting the shop for the very first time, having worked as an editor on several plays for the theater. As expected, Blaise – a tall, handsome, dark-skinned man – had already been sitting in the far right corner, a cup in hand. But, for the first time, he wasn’t alone. Another man, rivaling him in means of height and imposingness, sat across him and Harry could only observe the back of his golden-haired head.

     “How’s work?” Pansy asked sympathetically, as though she already intuitively the answer.

     “Still nothing.” Harry answered, giving her a wimpy half-assed smile meant to insinuate he wasn’t really in the mood to discuss his failed attempts again.

     He was a bit surprised to see Pansy’s face light up: “Well, I guess you’re in luck. Meet Draco.”

     The lissome man turned around, gracing Harry with a jovial expression and a smile in his bright, grey eyes. He extended his thin fingers and introduced himself as Draco Malfoy.

     “Draco is one of our newest members of staff. He’s a director. And a bloody brilliant one at that.”

     Draco’s face went strikingly red, and Harry could feel the tips of his ears heating up as well, as he shook the man’s hand. The man was almost saliently attractive.

     “We were just discussing about your writings. I told Draco you were outstanding.” Pansy continued.

     Harry turned around, meaning to look at her below the eye, but was interrupted by Pansy immediately.

     “Oh, stop it. You know you are. I just thought, you know, maybe Draco could help a bit.” 

     Draco wriggled for a moment as Harry approached to sit beside him and started to tuck his hand inside his left pocket, from which he pulled out a business card. His name was the thing that stood out the most on the white background, because it was written in an almost old-fashioned penmanship.

     He turned to Harry, handing him the card: “If you’re any good as Pansy tells me, you make sure to give me a call.”

     Harry could feel the corners of his lips slowly start to form a smile as he looked down on the perfect loops of the handwriting: “I’ll make sure to.”


	2. The Second Meeting

                Harry could not remember the last time he felt this anxious. He had been fiddling around with his phone nervously, pacing around the small room for the past half an hour, at least, thoughts racing through his mind.  Should he press down on the screen to call or should he not? Would it be too inconvenient for him? What if he has better things to do? Riddled with anxiety, at one point, he simply decided to let it all go, and give him a call. With each passing ring, he felt his heart sink down to his belly. The sound of a smooth, deep voice answering the phone calmed him down a bit and brought him a sprinkle of reassurance.

                “Hello?”

                “Erm… Did-did I reach Mr. Malfoy by any chance?” Harry felt as though his tongue was about to tie in a noose. He bit on his finger hard.

                “Yes, Malfoy speaking. And to whom do I have a pleasure of speaking with?”

                “It’s… erm… Harry. Harry Potter. We’ve met a couple of days ago. You said that…”

                “Ah! Yes! I was wondering when you’d finally decide to give me a call, Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?” Draco suddenly interrupted him, though less rudely, and more excitedly. Harry could hear no ill intention behind the man’s voice, bringing him even more encouragement. He let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

                “Well, I have a manuscript…” Harry began, but was quickly interrupted again by Draco’s thrilled voice.

                “Tell you what – why don’t you print that manuscript out and bring it to my place? I’ll text you the address.”

                Harry found himself a tad taken aback by Draco’s cordiality.

                “Uhm, sure. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

                “Magnificent. Looking forward to seeing you.”

                “Likewise.”

                As he stepped on the train, manuscript in hand, Harry forgot all about why he was so anxious in the first place. It slowly started turning into exuberance, and he could barely hide the wide grin on his face – for a couple of times, he caught himself having to lower his head down, just to stop people from noticing.  

                Being familiar with the West End meant that finding Draco’s flat was not at all hard.  Just above a pub in Covent Garden, it looked cozy, even on the outside.

                Still a bit jumpy, he scurried up the steps towards the door. A deep inhale, a full exhale, and he was ready to knock on it.

                A svelte figure opened the door to what seemed to be a studio apartment turned office. Harry’s keen eye took a quick look around it. It seemed to exude with the same kind of old-fashioned, formal personality Harry had picked up on while observing Draco’s business card, with just a dash of the contemporary, almost minimalistic – the walls were painted in plain, beige color, to the right, a large olive, velvety, comfy looking sofa, and above it, a large Cubist painting. In the middle, a rather grand oak desk with a laptop on it – behind it, a high window overlooking the south, on either side shelves filled with papers (presumably, manuscripts). On the left, a single ebony grandfather clock. It was striking exactly 6 o’clock. The setting afternoon sun fell gracefully on the slender figure, when Harry’s eyes finally fell on it. Draco bid him a warming welcome, grey eyes smiling, as he extended his long arm.

                “Wonderful to see you.”

                Harry wholeheartedly took the hand, though just a tad embarrassingly, because his own was almost completely sweaty, so he had to wipe it against his jeans. Stepping aside, the other arm extending towards the office, Draco beckoned him inside. Each of his movements emanated elegance, professionalism.

                “Please, do take a seat.”

                Still nervous tottered towards one of the large chairs next to the desk – so comfortable; one might just find themselves falling asleep in it.

                “So, tell me Harry… Is it okay if I call you Harry?”

                Harry quickly and vehemently nodded.

                “Tell me, what is this play about?” Draco’s thin lips spread into a wide, consoling smile.

                At this question, Harry’s mouth went sealed. Cold beads of sweat started breaking around his temples.  He had been so caught up with the excitement and the anxiety of someone actually wanting to read his play; he completely forgot to treat it as an actual business interview. He stuttered, trying to find the right words to present his idea.

                “Well… Uhm… It’s about this boarding school, and…” words somehow got stuck behind Harry’s throat.

                A cordial glint appeared in Draco’s eyes as he sat down in his chair, followed by an amiable chuckle.

                “Let’s make it this way. How about you leave the manuscript here, and I’ll get back to you after I read it.”

                Harry nodded, almost erratically, feeling grateful that those shiny gray eyes picked up on his agitation.

                “We could discuss it over dinner. Agreed?”

                “Yes. Definitely.” Harry finally returned a smile, albeit a jittery one.

                “Perfect.” Draco adorned another one of his wide, jovial grins.

                “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” was the only thing Harry could muster up as he turned towards the door to leave the office.

                “Oh, and… Harry?” Draco’s euphonious voice stopped him just as he was going to grab the door knob.

                “Yes?”

                “Call me Draco.”


End file.
